Melody Came AlongChapter 1

Desc: Sex Story: Chapter 1 - In classic tennis white -- white shorts, matching tank top, and sneakers -- she was eye catching. Her black shiny hair fell softly around her face. It was thick and I had to resist the urge to run my fingers through the luscious strands. And her glasses were gone. Her dark brown eyes seemed to draw me in like mirrors in reverse; and I decided I wanted to spend hours looking into them.

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I had had several prospects over the last year, and though they had lived up to their potential on the tennis court; they had not lived up to their potential in the area of which I was most interested -- a relationship...

Teaching tennis was not always the best job in the world, but it kept my ass from being homeless and meal less; and I was able to set my own hours and make room for my writing. I also, from time to time, met some interesting women among most of my students who were skinny, pimply teens who could not hit the side of a barn with their serves; and horny older ladies who were more interested in feeling me up and trying to get me to bed them.

The last three months had been only horny older ladies -- most of whom were married; or if not married, old enough to be my mother; and being a six footer with a broad chest, thick arms, and lumberjack legs had become more of a nuisance with each passing day. I was bored and feeling more than a bit lonely when Melody came along.

It was on a Friday afternoon and I was sitting by the court; my nose stuck in Oliver Twist when I heard someone coming.

I glanced up and saw her.

She was wearing baggy clothes -- gray sweats. She was also wearing glasses.

I kept my eyes on my book and was only half-way paying attention when she said that she wanted to take tennis lessons. I had my calendar full, and she really didn't look worth my time, but decided that giving her a try-out wouldn't hurt. It would give me something to do besides sit on my ass.

Tossing her bag over her shoulder, she walked toward the changing room.

I went back to my book and put her out of my mind; not for long, though.

Her shadow fell over my book and when I looked up she was different than before. In classic tennis white -- white shorts, matching tank top, and sneakers -- she was eye catching. Her black shiny hair fell softly around her face. It was thick and I had to resist the urge to run my fingers through the luscious strands. And her glasses were gone. Her dark brown eyes seemed to draw me in like mirrors in reverse; and I decided I wanted to spend hours looking into them.

Her skin had a rich healthy glow; and she was built like an athlete. Her chest was full and sensuous, her shoulders strong and wide, and her legs were well shaped and powerful looking. I briefly pictured those luscious limbs wrapped around my waist.

And when she turned and reached for her racket; I got a view of her ass; my loins really game to life. She was big, round, and voluptuous. And her cheeks looked like two hearts placed upside down, side by side.

Only a couple of inches shorter than me, she was like an Amazon. I was turned on all the way; and had to fight to stay focused as I led her onto the court.

When we took our places on either side of the net, she donned her glasses; and they made her more desirable. Even if she had been the world's biggest klutz, I would have added her to my clients. As it turned out, she was good enough to be in the intermediate class.

We met at the net to discuss the lessons and she took off her glasses. Her dark eyes looked into my green ones every now and then; and I determined that in spite of her body's power and beauty, she was shy.

"I'll see you tomorrow afternoon, then," I finally said; seeing Mrs. Sanders coming out of the changing area. She's one of the ladies old enough to be my mother who likes to caress my ass. I grinned at the look on her face when she saw Melody. If looks could have killed, my lovely Amazon would have dropped dead.

But she stayed very much alive; and while she left the court, I was able to keep my eyes glued on her luscious rear end.

I scheduled Melody at the end of the day; and we sometimes went over the allotted time. I liked looking into her dark eyes and watching her smile as she improved; the power of her full athletic body in motion; and the sight of her dark hair matted to her neck from the sweat of her body.

To teach some of the moves, I had to go in from behind to show her how to do them. The backhand was especially sweet because to get it right, she had to move that sexy ass into me in a certain way to get the swing right. I really loved the sensation of that soft ass on my groin.

Her shyness was still there, though not as obvious as she opened up. I really noticed this when she made slight mistakes in the backhand so that I had to show her how to do it again. She was too good for those types of errors.

Then, she began resting her hand on my hip; and letting it wander to my ass. I loved the feel of her hand on that part of my anatomy; and I didn't push it away like I did with the frisky matrons. Being turned on by her was a dream come true.

At night in bed; stroking myself, I would recall those dark eyes so sexy behind the glasses; and the scent of her spicy perfume, mixed with the clean sweat of her work outs; and I would imagine what it would be like to be her panties.

One morning, a day that was not a scheduled lesson for her, I decided that it was time to move beyond my fantasies; to test the waters. I dropped by the used bookstore that she co-owned with two ladies she had graduated with from college.

The store resembled a library; books were in sections, and there were comfortable chairs all around. There were also fresh coffee and baked goodies.

Melody was sitting behind the counter; sorting through books. She was wearing a full ankle length white skirt; decorated with pink roses. Her over-sized blouse matched the skirt and the buttons were undone to reveal a pink silk top; which registered with my cock. Fortunately, I could lean against the counter to hide my reaction.

She seemed glad to see me; though a little nervous. I assumed that she had me placed on the tennis court and was having a little trouble adjusting to me outside that world. She pushed a strand of hair behind her right ear, a habit I had noticed before, and smiled at me. "Hi, Bill. What's up?"

"Would you like to have dinner with me this evening?"

The hesitation wasn't hard to miss -- she looked down at her lap for several seconds. Then, she looked back up at me and said, "Sounds nice. I have to work 'til seven."

The phone rang and, as she picked it up, I said, "I'll swing by and pick you up."

During our meal at a small Italian place that was a favorite of mine, she was clearly nervous, but relaxed enough to enjoy our discussion about our jobs and books. We both enjoyed reading, both the classics and latest fiction, and we became engrossed in talking about our favorite authors.

When I mentioned that I was a free-lance writer, she admitted to having read my stuff that regularly appeared in various mystery magazines. She also admitted to writing poetry. We then discussed writing.

At the end of the evening, when we reached the steps of her duplex, we were comparing rejection slips; and making up rejection slips of our own.

Our moment of silence finally came; the one in the movies where the would-be-lovers stand looking at each other, just before their first kiss. Sensing I should let her make the move, I waited, looking up at her. The stoop light was dim, but I could see her fairly well as she stood slightly above me on the second of four steps that lead into her place.

"I like black wavy hair and green eyes," she said, softly; taking off her glasses and holding them in her right hand.

"I like black wavy hair and brown eyes."

"How do you feel about kisses?"

I chuckled. "Depends on who wants to kiss me."

"I'd like to kiss you."

"Then what the hell are you waiting for?"

I ran my finger along her cheek.

"I'm afraid I'll disappoint you."

If I had had a list of responses, this one would not have been on the list. And I knew from the tone of her voice that there was true fear. I also knew that she was afraid of disappointing me in ways other than kissing.

"Let's go inside," I said.

Her living room was one big area; with wall to wall cherry bookcases taking up most of the space. The lamps sitting around the room reflected nicely off the glass doors of the cases. Her hunter green leather couch took up the main floor area; along with a big square coffee table; that matched the bookcases. The floors were wood; and she had throw rugs here and there.

In a corner next to the kitchen was a cherry dining table, surrounded by four chairs.

"I spend most of my time upstairs," she said as I walked over to take a look at some of the titles of her books. The case I was looking in was all mysteries; and they looked in great condition. I noticed the Rex Stouts and asked, "First Editions?"

"Yeah. I have several still to find."

Her voice was very soft and I turned to look at her. She had sat down on the fourth stair from the bottom. Her arms were crossed over her knees and she had her face buried.

Crossing the room, I stroked the back of her neck with my fingers. "Mel, look at me."

She raised her head and I placed my hand against her right cheek.

"Go take a shower and don't put on anything but a robe. I'll be up in a few minutes."

When she was gone, I went to the kitchen. Everything seemed to be made out of stainless steel; with the exceptions of the wood cabinets, which were painted white; and the walls which were painted maroon. After searching a few minutes, I found the stuff for hot chocolate; and soon made my way upstairs.

There were only two rooms; and I made my way to the one at the end of the hall. There were more bookshelves with glass doors; these were painted white. The walls were storm cloud blue; and the carpet was gray. The furniture was white -- including a desk that was between the only two windows in the room. There was a large dark blue recliner; made of cloth in a corner next to a lamp.

I put the two mugs of hot chocolate on the night stand; and made myself comfortable on the edge of the bed that faced the bathroom. While waiting, I began to count the teddy bears sitting in various positions around the room. I had discovered there were twenty of them, when the bathroom door opened and she joined me.

Her hair was damp; and her face slightly pink; and she looked gorgeous in the dark gray floor-length terry-cloth robe, which she had belted up tightly. She also looked terrified and I realized that I was missing something.

"Come here, Kitten," I said softly; patting the spot beside me.

Joining me on the midnight blue comforter, she looked down at her hands that were knotted tightly on her lap. I placed my hand over them, hoping she would feel protected.

"This is screwed up," she said. "I start taking tennis lessons from you at the suggestion of my therapist; a way for me to feel safe to stop being afraid of my body; and I end up flirting with you and you with me and..." She sighed. "I never thought about things going that way."

"Who's your therapist?"

"Anne Sharpton."

I smiled. "She's a good lady. She helped my sister Faye get through a bad marriage a few years ago."

"I was raped a year and a half ago," she whispered.

"Oh, Kitten." I got on my knees, wrapped her in a tight hug, and then kissed her hands.

She looked at me. "I like you calling me that."

"That's good," I tweaked her nose, "because you're going to be hearing it a lot."

"Bill, will you stay the night with me and just hold me?"

"Whatever you need, Kitten."

She hugged me and then went into the bathroom.

Keeping on my shirt and boxers, I climbed into bed and propped up to drink my hot chocolate. By the time Melody came back, wearing a t-shirt that reached her knees and a pair of shorts, I had decided that I was hers for life.